Twenty Months

by Alicia Rogers

  "Yeah…" she nodded slowly, her expression unmistakably one of 'humor the mental patient', "he told me. Jesse and Daisy sound adorable."

  "They are," he smiled warmly. "Completely spoiled, but adorable nonetheless." He held up the shopping bag dangling at his side. "Daisy scammed this out of me yesterday – that kid would sell government secrets for a Bratz doll."

  "Oh, those are for Daisy…"

  He gave her a look. "Of course; what else would you think?"

  She shrugged. "That you're a creepy man who plays with dolls."

  "I prefer Barbie – I'm old fashioned that way."

  Lizzie laughed, turning back to the stack of books. "That's good to know, Christmas is coming up." She ran her finger along the spines coming to a stop on a pristine copy of Pregnancy for Dummies she pulled it from the shelf. "Did you honestly buy this?" she asked him while flipping through the pages.

  "Yeah," Darcy chuckled self-deprecatingly, "everyone at Amazon is probably getting a fat bonus this year courtesy of me with all the money I spent."

  She hesitated, "We haven't really talked about this, and I dunno, maybe I've been avoiding it because it becomes real the moment we do." Taking a deep breath she met his gaze. "There's this little, human being growing inside me and it's going to expect me to be responsible and prepared, and know all of the answers to the universe and I'm scared. I've never been so goddamn scared of anything in my life. Are you scared?"

  "I'm terrified," Darcy breathed.

  "But, you're already getting into the mode, right? You're buying the books, you're probably looking at nursery designs and Baby Gap booties, and I haven't done any of that. I'm still stuck in this state of denial; the other day, I actually tried to convince myself that my favorite pair of jeans wasn't fitting because I'd eaten an extra bag of Ruffles." Audibly sighing she stuck the book back in its slot on the shelf. "I had all of these plans; I was gonna be this incredible actress and ride this wave of selfishness well into my mid-thirties," she smirked, "where I would make up for it by adopting a Cambodian child or something."

  "Instead, I serve potato skins for a living and…" Lizzie looked down at her stomach, "well, you know."

  He regarded her for a moment, his features abnormally soft. "I was going to be a world class chef and when my selfish years wrapped up, I would land a deal with the Food Network, travel the world, and be a much younger and better looking version of Anthony Bourdain. Instead, I'm the head of a company I don't want and…"

  Lizzie frowned. "I know."

  Darcy shrugged. "I've got the whole of Amazon's parenting section at my fingertips and I'm just as lost and ill prepared as you are, Lizzie." His hand, of its own volition, reached out and grabbed hers. "It's okay whatever we screw up, we'll do it together."

  A blush settling in her cheeks, Lizzie gently slid her hand out of his grasp with a tepid smile and a muttered, "Thanks", and returned her fingers to the spines of books.

  Chapter 18

  Jaws Theme Swimming. Part Two

  There was a curious moment in between the time the three of them had left the bookstore behind that Lizzie paused; though Richard was chatting animatedly by her side, she was unable to stop her eyes from darting to Darcy – who had once again lapsed into silence. Within said curious moment a small, niggling thought produced itself at the back of her mind and gnawed its way through her occipital lobe until she could no longer deny its existence,

  Maybe, just maybe, she had pegged Fitzwilliam Darcy wrong.

  Insane as it were, it was the only explanation that made even the tiniest bit of sense while she tried to reconcile Darcy's apparent, Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde complex. This was the man whose initial reaction to the news of her pregnancy, was to call her a whore and insinuate she was after his bank account, who said insomuch, she was 'too middle-class' to understand the pressures of his world, and who not only accused Daniel Wickham of such horrible things, but sweetened the whole deal by cutting off his college education.

  This was the same guy who was such a loving, big brother? The guy who beamed from ear to ear at the mention of, and bought dolls for his niece? Who tolerated her mother and younger sisters in all of their fucking ridiculous glory, and did so, so casually and without the slightest hint of a complaint; the guy who said she was unlike anyone he had ever met, who proposed to her though he didn't have to, and shared his fears for the future and unrealized dreams in hopes to quell her own?

  "What time is it?" Lizzie asked, absently rubbing at her right hand; ten whole minutes after Darcy had taken her hand, it still tingled.

  "4:30," Darcy said, tucking his cell phone away.

  "Well, boys it's been fun, but minimum wage duty calls," she sighed with a smile. "Richard, it was very nice to meet you."

  "Wait, Darcy and I can give you a ride," he started, but Lizzie shook her head.

  "No, that's okay. It's not far from here and I love to walk."

  "I'll walk with you." Though he was speaking to her, Darcy was determinedly keeping his eyes on Richard. "I don't mind, really."

  Feeling oddly nervous, Lizzie gave a hesitant shrug. "Um, yeah, sure – okay."

  "Alright, then…" Richard's lip quirked upwards as he took the bag out of Darcy's hand, "I'll take this to my traitor spawn," he chuckled. "Lizzie, I thank you for being the perfect kidnapping victim. See, Darce, I told you we wouldn't need all that duct tape and rope -- sadly."

  "There's something in there for Jesse, too," Darcy told him, "so, tell, Daisy I'm sorry she won't be able to gloat as much."

  Richard 'tsked'. "Leave it to you to crush a little girl's hopes like that," he deadpanned, and with a grin and a nod, he departed, leaving the two of them all alone.

  Rather awkwardly they stood in silence watching Richard's retreating form being swallowed up by the crowd, and when the back of his head could no longer be seen, Darcy cleared his throat and gestured to the spot of sidewalk in front of him as if to say, "after you".

  Silently they walked side-by-side, Lizzie with her hands in her coat pockets and head down against the wind, and Darcy idly playing with the ends of the scarf that dangled loosely around his neck. Every now and again Lizzie would swear she could feel his eyes on her, but when she happened to glance in his direction, Darcy simply remained as he had been when they parted from Richard – deathly quiet and eyes focused straight ahead.

  Unable to stand it any longer, she said, "You and Richard seem pretty close for cousins."

  "Yeah," he nodded, "we grew up together."

  "That's so unreal to me," she chuckled, "I mean, of course I had a house full of sisters running around making me contemplate the benefits of seppuku, so I never felt the need to really connect to any of my extended family. I can honestly only think of two of my cousins who aren't total rat bastards."

  Darcy smiled. "Oh, Richard's a total rat bastard, but then again, maybe that's why we get along so well."

  Lizzie snickered. "Family trait, huh?"

  "So, um…how long have you worked at Friday's?" he asked seemingly out of the blue and still not bothering to look Lizzie directly in the face.

  "Six, very long months," she sighed with a shrug. "Hey, it pays the bills that Jane won't. For some reason, she doesn't think a cable package that includes BBC America is 'necessary' – I had to do something."

  "Oh," he replied quietly. "Do you like it?"

  Lizzie regarded him, her brow raised. "That's like asking me if I like rectal surgery…or Jessica Alba."

  Darcy flinched. "That bad?"

  "It has it's moments of non-suck, but those are few and far in between. I never thought I'd be there this long; I'd planned on getting back to auditioning again, but when I found out I was pregnant, I knew a steady paycheck was more in my best interest."

  "Richard's a producer, you know," Darcy blurted and stumbled a bit off of the look she gave him. "Well, what I mean to say is, he's started a production company – it's very small, but I told him if he gets his hands on some truly good scripts, I'll finance
it for him. If something comes up, I can always…"

  "I couldn't ask you to do that."

  Darcy snickered. "Guess you wanna perfect that waitress thing, huh?"

  "Oh, that's real nice, Darcy. I'm glad my principles are so hilarious to you."

  "Extremely hilarious, actually." Lizzie shot him daggers as he continued. "This is Hollywood," he told her softly, "it's all about who you know. You can audition on your own, and I'll make sure to tell him that if you're truly shit, he's to turn you down right then and there."

  It was the first time in their entire conversation that Darcy had deigned to look at her; a half smile playing on his lips and his eyes unnaturally kind along with the combination of the chilly wind whipping his dark hair about made quite the picture. Good god, he really was handsome, and Lizzie had to grudgingly admit Charlotte was right – she had hit the 'baby daddy' jackpot.

  Fighting the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth, Lizzie said, "You promise?"

  "Cross my heart and hope to die."

  When they reached the outside of Friday's doors, she turned to thank him for keeping her company and before the words could jump off the tip of her tongue, Darcy said, "I've never actually tasted the food here."

  "Your stomach will thank you," she snorted

  "Do you have something against me finally finding out what the hell a jalapeno party popper is?" He grinned.

  She tilted her head, a slightly puzzled look on her face. "No, it's a free country; you're entitled to all of the acid reflux you can stand, just like the next guy. Just stay away from the triple cheese nachos – trust me; oh, and sit anywhere but in my section, please – no offense, it's just that this uniform already fills my daily shame quotient," Lizzie told him as they made their way inside.

  "Surprise!"

  The everyday clang of forks and spoons meeting plates, the murmur of various conversations at various tables, the hectic shouting of orders, the squeaky swing of the kitchen door, and the mind-numbing muzak pouring over the loudspeaker were all noticeably absent from the TGI Friday's that particular afternoon. Its staff gathered near the entrance, their usual indifferent smiles replaced with something more genuine; a banner declaring 'CONGRATULATIONS LIZZIE!' hung brilliantly above the bar and to top it all off, Charlotte emerged from the kitchen with a cake – its little topper of a bride with her groom by the scruff of his neck.

  Lizzie looked at Darcy who merely shrugged. "What's all this?" she asked.

  Navi popped her gum. "Your engagement/sendoff party, duh," she said matter-of-factly and added with eyes roving over Darcy's frame. "Cause there's no way any of us are going to let you continue to work in this dump when you're marrying a fine piece like that."

  Darcy shifted uncomfortably on his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets.

  "You guys didn't…" Lizzie started, but was cut off by Charlotte.

  "We know we didn't have to throw you a party especially one that's costing us some serious dime at the start of dinner rush, but Lizzie you're special." She smiled tenderly at her friend. "And you're leaving, and you deserve a proper goodbye, so you get your ungrateful ass over here and eat this cake."

  When it came to social situations, Lizzie found that Darcy was much more of a speak-when-spoken to kind of guy, and those words were entirely monosyllabic at best. He hung back for the most part absently taking bites of the cake in his hand or a sip from 'The Monster', a strawberry daiquiri Drew, the bartender insisted he have; and when cornered by one of her coworkers (damn near all suspiciously female), she noticed he tended to fidget, drop his eyes to his feet, and then reply with something incredibly clipped and slightly pompous, resulting in a hasty retreat by a spurned member of the Friday's crew, and a twinge of pink in Darcy's cheeks.

  "He's shy," Lizzie said aloud, unbeknownst to herself.

  Charlotte grinned knowingly. "You were one of the slow kids in the back of the classroom, weren't you?"

  Doing a double-take, Lizzie tore her gaze away from Darcy and faced her friend with a newfound embarrassment. "That was out loud, wasn't it?"

  "Mm-hmm."

  "I've really gotta learn how to control that."

  Leaning in close to her Lizzie's, Charlotte dropped her voice just above a whisper, "Wait a minute, could Lizzie actually be having thoughts about Fitzwilliam Darcy that aren't related to murder? Could I dare go out on a limb and say some of these thoughts might even be friendly nature?" she asked, gasping. "Color me shocked and amazed."

  "You could go out on that limb, and I hope you fall and break your fucking neck," Lizzie said with mock sweetness as she turned on her heels heading toward Darcy. With each step she took, she questioned her sanity; of course it was her duty to appear every bit the doting fiancé, but her motives for this long trek across the room weren't driven so much by that infamous piece of paper as they were by a sudden, unexplainable desire to help the poor man along.

  She stopped mere inches away from his feet and took a sip of her Sprite before plopping it down on the bar top. "How's 'The Monster'?" she asked brightly.

  "Loaded with more liquor than strawberries, I suspect," he chuckled.

  Lizzie brought a finger to her lips. "Shh! You'll give away the secret."

  "Oh, crap, how careless of me."

  Laughing, she gestured to the empty space around them. "So, what is this?"

  "What's what?" Darcy cocked his head to the side.

  "This! It's like the isle of misfit billionaire's over here! Are you allergic to public interaction?" Lizzie teased. "C'mon, Darcy," she began taking his free hand, "part with your booze for just a moment, there's some people I want you to meet."

  "Hey, Lizzie!"

  At some point between her and Darcy walking through Friday's double doors, and Charlotte shoving cake into her hands, Lizzie completely forgot one very important fact about her workplace….

  Daniel Wickham was on the payroll.

  This glaring oversight proved to be most inconvenient since at the sight of the aforementioned gentlemen, Darcy crushed the living hell out of her hand.

  Yanking her poor, wounded mitt out of his grasp, Lizzie smiled tightly at the approaching Danny. "Hey…you," she attempted cheerful and failed miserably.

  Clearly playing off of Darcy's presence, Wickham swept Lizzie up into a hug that literally lifted her off of her feet; when he finally returned her to the ground his face was split wide with a cheesy grin. "God, I'm so sorry I'm late – I wouldn't have missed my sensei's sendoff for the world, but you know how my car likes to pick and choose when it feels like cranking up." Smile still firmly in place he turned his attention on a seething Darcy. "Will, how are you? Or does everyone call you Fitzwilliam, now?"

  The vein in the middle of Darcy's forehead pulsed dangerously and he said nary a word, not even bothering to grunt.

  "So, when's the wedding?" Wickham asked cheerily.

  "We uh haven't exactly decided on a date yet, have we Darcy?" Lizzie's eyes flitted between the two. "Though, we're thinking something along the lines of mid-December."

  "Be sure to let me know, won't you, sensei? I'll keep my calendar clear," his smile curling into something strikingly nasty, Wickham leaned into Darcy, "especially if you need a best man."

  It happened in an instant, so quick in fact, that a mere blink prevented Lizzie from catching the exact moment that Darcy put his hands around Wickham's neck, and it took the loud thud of Wickham's back hitting the wall for everyone else in the room to become wise to the goings on.

  There were shrieks and the harried sounds of the feet of men rushing over to pry Darcy off of the red-faced man.

  "Let him go, Fitzwilliam….c'mon now," Drew gently coaxed with one hand wrapped around Darcy's forearm.

  "If you touch her, I will kill you," Darcy spat through gritted teeth before dropping his hands.

  Wickham coughed and sputtered as he straightened himself up and allowed Darcy to take two steps back (but made sure he was still in ear range) before he said, "Pussy."
>
  That time, not a single person in the room missed out on seeing the punch that landed squarely in the middle of Wickham's face.

  * * *

  "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

  Lizzie was fast on his heels as Darcy shoved his way out of the restaurant's doors, roaring at the top of her lungs. "Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

  "Lizzie, don't." The sentence may have been short, but it was deeply ominous. Anger practically rolled off of his body in waves and Darcy wrung his hands together while pacing back and forth.

  "Don't, what? Don't tell you that you just made a complete jackass out of yourself!" she screamed. "I can't even believe…"

  "How do you know, Daniel Wickham?" he suddenly asked.

  She glared. "From prayer group," was her sarcastic reply. "We work together!"

  "Good thing it's your last week there, I don't want you anywhere near him, you understand?"

  Red and gold flashed in Lizzie's eyes. "Excuse me?"

  Darcy had now taken to pulling at the ends of his hair. "I didn't stutter; stay away from him."

  "Despite what your severely demented brain may have told you, I don't take orders from anyone – especially, you!" Lizzie shook her head. "You've really got some fucking nerve, buddy."

  "I've got nerve?!" Darcy's eyes went wide.

  "I. Didn't. Stutter," she shot back. "Considering this whole situation should've gone the other way around, yeah, I'd say you've got a big load of nerve."

  "The other way around…?!"

  "After everything you've done to Danny, he should've wiped the floor with your ass."

  "Everything I…" doing a double-take, Darcy laughed humorlessly, "you know what, Lizzie, I think it's time you learned to keep your mouth shut about things you have no fucking clue about."

  Lizzie practically snarled. "Oh, I know, plenty!"

  "Oh, I bet you do," he snickered derisively.

  "I know you're a cold, calculating son of a bitch who I wish I never met!"

  Turning sharply on his heels Darcy shouted contemptuously over his shoulder, "See you at the altar, sweetheart!" and stalked angrily off into the night.